


till they're singing

by aubadezayn



Series: Till They're Singing [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel!Castiel, Angel-centric, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, But ends mutually, Cabin Fic, Castiel-centric, Depictions of Heaven and its Processes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Heaven, High Stakes, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, PNW, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Road Trips, Sam is in the Cage, Seattle/Washington, Slow Burn, Vulnerability, hurt!castiel, pining!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubadezayn/pseuds/aubadezayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I just feel complete when you're by my side,<br/>But I know you can't come home till they're singing"</p><p>Sam is never raised from Hell and Dean doesn't spend the year with Lisa, he spends it healing with Cas in a cabin in rural WA. He and Castiel fall in love while Castiel alternates between taking care of Dean and trying to fix his family in Heaven, which is in heavy ruin. "The Choir", which was the organizational and societal core of Heaven headed by Michael, has collapsed and with it Heaven. Raphael refuses to believe it's important and at Castiel's insistence and rebellion, the remaining Archangel lays down the gauntlet by challenging Castiel to recreate the Choir in it's entirety and heal Heaven by two years Earth time (much less in Heaven). This ends up exhausting Castiel's grace, and forcing him to choose between the love of his life and his family and home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beginning at the end

**Author's Note:**

> the title, and the quote in the description, is from the song If It Means Alot To You by A Day To Remember, and it's the overall inspiration for the fic.
> 
> this was originally going to be my DCBB for 2015, but I changed my story due to not being able to finish this by the deadline. i still really love it though! i have 20K+ already written so at least in the beginning updates will be consistently on Fridays!
> 
> there will be TWO parts to this story, and the tags are only relevant to Part 1. 
> 
> YOU CAN AND SHOULD COME TALK TO ME ON [TUMBLR](http://castieladrift.tumblr.com)

**_May, 2010 - Stull Cemetery, Kansas_ **

_Dean_

He's still on his knees when he finally starts to realize that the ground is not going to reopen. Sam is not coming back. The grass is final underneath him and though Castiel has fixed his body, he can't fix this situation. Distantly, Dean is glad that Bobby is alive but he barely registers his presence as they move to inside the impala.

  
He's on auto-pilot. He reverses the impala and drives away from the cemetery, towards Sioux Falls, but there's a piece of himself left behind. The piece of himself that is tied up with Sam, that had fallen into the Cage with his brother, is left stranded in Stull Cemetery. His hands are numb on the wheel but years and years of experience keep them steady and on the road.

  
Cas had been miraculously pieced back together (by God?) and used his mojo to fix Dean and Bobby before flitting off to Heaven. He'd gone and left them nearly immediately - Dean barely registering that the apocalypse, the big showdown, was over before the angel had disappeared. Dean would have thought Cas didn't care now that he was back with a full tank, if not for the tenderness in his gaze, the wordless promises to come back soon. When Cas disappeared it didn't sit well with Dean, and if he had contained any emotion at all, he would have probably reacted like a parent losing their child in the grocery store (where, where, where). There was very little fight left in him though, so he didn't bother trying to get Cas to stay.

  
The roar of the impala had tempered to a gentle growl after several hours of driving. The only other sound was the whistling of wind coming from the few inches of open window. "Dean..." Bobby started to speak, breaking the tense silence.

  
"No." Dean said without anger, or rage, or any emotion at all besides the coarse exhaustion of grief. His voice was hoarse, but he didn't remember screaming. The loss of Sam was in the wavelengths of his voice as much as their shared blood was in his veins. He didn't look away from the road or continue speaking. The denial was as final as closing a door, and Bobby sensibly left it alone and didn't try to open it again. The road rolled underneath them and lulled Bobby to sleep, but Dean's eyes never faltered. He barely blinked.

  
If he closed his eyes for even a millisecond Dean would see Sam fighting the Devil for Cas and Bobby, for his brother, for the world. He would see the baby brother he'd tried so hard to protect falling into the Cage.

  
They arrived in Sioux Falls as twilight descended over the city. The sky was alight with colors and a crisp, spring chill ran through the trees. Children run around outside, kicking a soccer ball, riding bikes, laughing, in the last fleeting moments of the long day and as Dean drove through downtown he was almost shocked to see the world continuing so seamlessly. To the children, to the pedestrians, to the commuters life keeps pushing forward without pause. To them, _nothing_ happened.

  
It throws Dean for a loop, it probably always will and he drives over the speed limit to get to Bobby's house sooner.

"Bobby." He gently shoves the sleeping hunter's shoulder when they pull up into the junkyard. Bobby jolts awake, his cap falling off from sleeping at a strange angle for so long. "We're here."

  
"Huh?" Bobby peers out the window and grunts. "You drove 6 hours straight, boy?"

Dean doesn't respond instead he taps his fingers on the steering wheel and grits his teeth. He doesn't look at Bobby even though he can feel the press of eyes on him. "Come inside, you're gonna drop from that adrenaline high soon and you shouldn't be drivin' when you do." Dean shakes his head where it's hanging between his arms on the steering wheel. "Dean, come inside." He insists.

  
Dean just shakes his head again, shame bubbling up as his eyes start to water. It's all just too much, he has to keep driving. Driving he can manage.

There's silence for a good few minutes before Bobby relents and gets out of the impala. He cracks his back and stretches, grunting about old age, before going to grab his duffle bag from the backseat. He leaves the front passenger door open, like he thinks Dean will drive away the moment he's out of the car. Once the backdoor slams shut Bobby's face appears in the passenger seat again.

  
"You _call_ me. You hear me? Don't be a stranger." Bobby ordered, waiting for Dean to nod his assent before closing the door. As he walked to the front steps Dean threw the impala into reverse and started pulling out of the driveway. He looked back only once he was positioned on the road, Bobby was just stood there at the bottom of the steps starin' at the impala. He wasn't waving, he just stood solemnly. Though he was already too far away to see Bobby's face, Dean imagined it was probably as defeated as his own.

He didn't know where he was driving to, he had no plan, had no map but the impala merged onto the highway out of habit. Dean felt like a passenger. He might have his hands on the wheel and his boot on the pedal but his mind felt like it was still back in Kansas, or slowly crawling it's way to South Dakota. He drove two more hours, on top of the six he'd done with Bobby, before he was forced to stop to pee and get some sleep.

  
Off the highway, periodically, are rest stops and some are as shady as a broken demon trap - while others are only _humanly_ shady. Luckily for him the first one he reached heading west toward Rapid City and Wyoming was only shady in an average American way, with unkept cleanliness and broken lighting.

  
He drove off the highway smoothly into a small, desolate rest stop. A few semi-trucks were in the outer parking spots but the main lot was empty. His knee gave a dangerous crack from holding a sitting position from so long when he got out, and he ignored it in favor of locking the impala while surveying the mostly dark area. The parking lot was spotted with dim light posts that gave off small circles of gold light and left most of the rest stop submerged in shadow.

  
The harsh, fluorescent lights laid out the empty and dirty rest area in front of him. He headed towards the door on the left that had a small, crooked male figure on it and underneath graffiti of someone's gang name in big bubble letters. Good ol' American highways. Moths covered the lights, desperate to be close to the fluorescence. The bathroom was a typical mess - the floor littered with paper towels and questionable puddles, the stalls broken and the urinals unkept and stained.

  
He'd seen worse. Unfazed he moved to the urinal farthest from the door and relieved himself. Above the urinal was an old advertisement in a plastic and metal locked case. It was some old style cartoon advertising cowboy boots. A horse was dancing in cowboy boots and Dean sneered at the horse's cheesy grin. The paper was yellowed from age and probably only still in there because something was jammed into and sticking out of the lock.

  
Dean sighed and tucked himself back into his jeans. The sink's faucet was too close to the edge and he couldn't fit his hands under the water without touching it. The soup was cheap and clung on, forcing Dean to repeatedly hit the faucet to turn it back on. All these little inconveniences should have tipped him into a rage, with how on edge he felt, but he just sighed again and dried his hands on his jeans.

  
When he emerged from the bathroom he noticed another car had parked a few spots left of the impala. In the dark it appeared to be a simple, modern compact car with two young women inside. As he got closer to the impala he could see that the passenger was passed out, sleeping open mouthed against the window with a pillow under her neck.

Oblivious to any possible threats, the passenger was in a world all their own; the driver on the other hand... The woman stared at Dean with suspicious, accusing eyes that seemed to laser through the darkness and straight into him. He could see her weighing him as a threat, her hand probably on the gear shift ready to leave, to protect her vulnerable passenger.

  
He'd had the same fight instinct for Sam, the same constant vigilance to protect. He lowered his eyes sadly to the ground thinking of his brother. Maybe that was her sister, he thought, who she was defending against _Dean_ like he was a demon, or like he was Lucifer. It was a strange epiphany, realizing that to this woman he was just a faceless male threat.

  
He wasn't the Righteous Man, or the Vessel, or any of the other heavenly names he'd been attributed over the years. With the apocalypse averted and Michael in the Cage, Dean was back to just being Dean Winchester. Outside of hunter circles and whispers in the Pit that didn't mean much.

  
Intentions to sleep in the car thrown out, Dean got back into his baby and reversed out of his spot. He hadn't been able to protect his family (no one but Cas and Bobby had survived the Winchester plague), but maybe he could help someone else protect theirs. Or at least that woman would sleep easy tonight, feeling victorious and safe, oblivious for one more night to the shit under shit under shit of the world - like Dean wished he could be.

  
\---------------------------------

  
"Dean."

  
"Fuck!" Dean jolted, the gas station coffee in his hand flying out of control and toppling into his lap. In between the fall and the blink of his eyes, the mess was gone and the brief flash of burning pain was just a memory. "Damn, Cas you can't just appear like that." Dean grumbled, tossing the now empty cup into the back of the impala where trash had already built up over the days.

  
"You should be more careful, that coffee was far above heat regulations and would have scalded your genitals very badly."

  
"Don't say genitals. Also if you would warn a guy when you're popping in, I wouldn't have spilt it at all." He snapped, glaring at the angel who sat impassively on the other side of the bench seat.

  
"How am I to warn you, Dean? I assumed that saying your name would be telling enough for my presence." Ah, so Cas hadn't forgotten sarcasm in his reboot. Dean rolled his eyes and steered off to exit 201 to get more coffee.

  
"Shut up, Cas."

  
Cas was quiet after that, though there was the barely there hint of a smile on his face which was practically a grin for him. Dean drove to the McDonald's drive-thru right off the highway and ordered two coffees, hushing Cas when he tried to object. "I don't require a beverage, Dean."

  
"Yeah, yeah well you're going to drink it anyway." Dean shushed him by handing him the coffee, which he'd poured two sugars and a cream into. They were parked at the outside of the parking lot so Dean could prepare the coffee without causing another mess. Cas' face screwed up immediately, his whole face comically bunched into wrinkles of disgust.

"Here, put this in it you big baby." Dean extended the leftover sugar packets to Cas and took a swig of his own black coffee. It burned going down but the caffeine had the almost instant effect of reopening his tired eyes. He'd been driving for almost 7 hours today alone, and though he'd been stopping in motels and rest stops periodically since Sioux Falls he hadn't managed much sleep.

  
When he did sleep it only lasted for a few hours and only came to him at the brink of real exhaustion.

  
"I am not an infant, Dean. But this is much better." Cas drank his sweet coffee like each drop was precious, a pleased expression gracing his face with every tiny sip.

  
"Shoulda figured you'd like it with so much sugar, you angels are all girls."

  
"What is feminine about coffee that _doesn't_ taste like manure? If that is masculinity, then men are at a sore disadvantage." Cas asked, fake innocence glazed over the jab. Dean snorted and drove out of the parking lot and back to the freeway entrance.

  
"Coffee aside, where you been Cas? It's been a couple days." Dean asked when they got stopped behind a long trail of cars at a red light. The car in front of them had a Jesus bumper sticker (JESUS LOVES YOU) and Dean rolled his eyes so hard they hurt afterwards.

  
"I have been in Heaven. I apologize for taking so long to come back, it is in...disarray." Cas struggled for a moment with the right word before landing on disarray. Even when it was out, he didn't sound very sure of its fit.

  
"I figured and it's cool man, Heaven comes first." Dean refused to mention that every night since _that night_ he'd spent hours in uncomfortable motel beds cursing Heaven for taking his brother from him. He refused to mention that "cool" was the opposite of how it felt to not have another body weighing down the other side of the impala or hear Sam shuffle to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

  
"No it does not, Dean." Cas' hand came down sharply on Dean's shoulder, squeezing tightly. There was intensity to his words that made Dean pause and actually look him in the eyes, for the first time since Castiel had entered the car. It had been only two days since Dean had last seen Cas, since he'd last seen those crazy deep blue eyes and it felt like diving into cold water to see them again up so close.

"Heaven will never come before you Dean." Cas glared at him, chomping on the words harshly, like if he just said it with enough conviction Dean would have to believe him.

  
"I-" Before Dean could even start his thought, a car horn blared from behind them alerting Dean to the green light and the empty lane in front of him. Dean drove the impala forward, merging onto the highway with little focus as Cas' hand moved from his shoulder to rest lightly on the upholstery between them. It was quiet in the car for a moment before Dean broke it again, only a few hundred feet away from the highway entrance.

  
"So it's me _uno_ and Heaven _dos_?" Dean asked awkwardly, drinking from his coffee to hide.

  
"Yes, Dean." Cas said without hesitation.

  
Dean swished his coffee around in the cup awkwardly, looking anywhere except for Castiel. There was a car driving slightly in front of him to the left and another one driving a couple yards behind him but the highway was mostly empty. This part of South Dakota had been bulldozed and grazed to make way for highway and outlet malls and provided little scenery to focus on which led to Dean focusing solely on Cas.

  
His focus sharpened so that looking at Cas, even out of the corner of his eye like he was doing, was like seeing the finest dust and particles in a beam of sunlight. His hands steered but his mind focused on the way Cas breathed without needing to, on the way Cas' body was relaxed on the seat like he'd never have been a year ago, but mostly on the way that Cas didn't leave. He didn't push for conversation or look ready to leave. He just relaxed with his legs spread out and his arms loose, looking out the window like the view was worth the attention of an angel.

  
"If I come before Heaven..." Dean hesitated, choking on the words nervously. He cleared his throat and determinedly did not look at Cas (who was definitely looking at him from the heated feel of eyes on Dean's face). "Does that mean you'll stay?" Cas considered this, which made Dean's chest tighten in shame. How dare he even hope, he scolded himself internally, how dare he show vulnerability. This is what you get Dean, his scolding continued, this is what you get for daring to-

  
"I will stay with you, Dean, for as long as I can."

  
And that was good enough.


	2. where god walks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we have reached Heaven, it is not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK OUT MY TUMBLR [HERE](http://castieladrift.tumblr.com)

He's just jammed a breakfast burrito into his gullet when Cas reaches over and turns down the radio. His expression must look offended because Cas turns it back up a few notches and glares at him with defiance. "What is a Holiday Inn Express? How could they make your stay express - do they speed up time?" He asks incredulously, pointing to a repetitive cluster of highway exit signs declaring gas stations and hotels.

Dean laughed, bits of burrito flying awkwardly out of his mouth and landing on his shirt. He shook his shirt off with one hand and tossed the burrito down by the gear shift with the other. His knees balanced the wheel. "Nah Cas, it just means like a short stay. I guess it's less quality than the normal Holiday Inn, but I'm no expert."

"Why not?"

"I'm more of a Motel 6 man. I like my doors broken and my pillows empty of chocolate."

"Why would there be chocolate in your pillow?" Cas squinted at him, tilting his head. Dean smiled again, the skin around his mouth crinkling into laugh lines. Cas opened his mouth but Dean just shook his head and waved a hand dismissedly.

"Forget it, Cas." Dean picked up his burrito and took a smaller bite. He spoke between chews. "Holiday Inn's are great for civilians but when you basically live in motels its better to pinch your pennies and risk the bed bugs."

"You don't think you deserve a nice hotel?" He glanced over at Cas and was startled by the intent expression on his friend's face. He shook his head dazed by the eye contact and looked away, glancing back awkwardly before turning away again to stare out at the highway.

"I don't think I can afford a nice hotel, Cas." Cas was silent for a minute, in which Dean awkwardly chewed on his growing cold burrito. Afford, deserve, tomato, tahmato - either way Dean had never set foot in a Holiday Inn Express, much less an even fancier hotel. In America, on the highway it generally went shitty local motels, Motel 6, Super 8, Holiday Inn Express, etc. For most of his life he'd stuck to the bottom rungs, except for a few times in podunk nowhere where the only place to stay other than the impala was a shifty Super 8.

"Take this exit." Dean startled at Cas breaking the silence again and didn't react in timely enough of a manner to please the angel. He felt the wheel move under his hands and jerkily lead them through the little bit of traffic towards the exit.

He didn't try to hold the wheel, fearing it would lock the car and send them skidding but he did throw down his burrito and yell at Cas. "Hey! What the fuck, Cas!" He glared something fierce, though the anger didn't seem to matter to Cas - who determinedly stared ahead and directed the impala off the highway and to the empty lane at the end of the exit. A red light blared above them despite the lack of cars in the intersection.

"Cas you can't just fucking take control of my baby like that." Dean punched Cas on the arm out of angry instinct but his knuckles bounced off like he'd hit slightly wet clay. Cas wasn't effected in the slightest but the effort didn't hurt Dean, which was surprising. The last time he'd tried to hit Cas it had been like hitting marble.

"You were slow reacting. The impala is fine." Cas pointed to the traffic light. "Green. Turn left."

Dean grumbled under his breath, taking the turn grudgingly. "She better be."

"I would not harm you or your car, Dean. Turn in 0.2 miles." Cas relayed the directions that he wanted until finally they pulled up outside the large Holiday Inn Express.

"Cas-"

"You deserve nice things, Dean." Cas said firmly. That shut Dean up fast, who stared up at the large hotel with a screwed up mouth and a bitterness on his tongue. He didn't like being told what to do and he really didn't like Cas not listening to him but he wasn't wrong. Dean wasn't getting any younger and springy motel beds, even those with Magic Fingers, weren't that great on his back. Maybe if he hustled some pool tonight he'd be able to afford a night without lifting some unsuspecting civilians credit card.

"You're sleeping outside, punk." Cas had a pleasant, smug little smile on his face as Dean parked the impala close to the building where it was less likely to be touched. Cas was out of the car with a pop and a flutter of wings before Dean even finished parking the car. Dean shouted at him for being reckless but his trenchcoat was already flying behind him as he strode inside the hotel. Dean hurried to lock up the car and catch up, striding in through the automatic doors. It was freezing inside, the air conditioner pumping frigid air and making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Cas was at the front desk, a huge fake grin on his face that made Dean pause in shock. Who knew he had so many teeth? He noted that Jimmy had crows feet and it made him feel better about his own wrinkles (which weren't as few as he'd like to think). "Cas-"

"Do you have a room with two queens?" Cas asked the man behind the counter, the gravel in his voice sounding charming instead of vaguely otherworldly. Dean's eyebrows shot up as he watched Cas half-schmooze and half-angelically compel the man into giving up the keys without any payment or credit card at all. The man, who had a modern undercut hairstyle and a flirty smile just for Cas, happily gave him a set of key cards.

"Thank you," Cas smiled at the man, before turning to Dean and triumphantly handing him the keys. Dean was speechless and only came back to himself when he noticed that Cas' smile had dropped off back to his impassive, normal expression. He waited patiently for Dean to regain his footing and followed him back out to the impala to get Dean's bag.

"Isn't that like against the holy rules or something?" Dean asked, as they passed the front desk again. The man behind the counter had a smile ready for Cas and Dean sneered at him defensively, his hackles raised for a reason he couldn't place.

"What is?"

"Stealing, I guess? I mean I'm not against it, man, I live off stolen credit cards but it seems a bit worse when an angel does it."

"I don't consider it larceny. This company has more than enough money and I gave him as much as I had. It's less stealing and more...a discount." Cas pressed the button for the third floor when they got into the elevator.

"Vet's discount, huh?" Dean chuckled drily. Cas looked at him thoughtfully and nodded.

"Like I said Dean...you deserve nice things."

\-------------------------------

"This bed is like a fucking cloud, Cas. Is this what Heaven feels like?" Dean sighed happily, rolling around on his huge plush bed and messing up the white linens. He'd kicked off his boots already, explored the huge fancy bathroom and definitely enjoyed the amazing water pressure in the shower but he'd saved the best part for last. The bed was the best thing he'd ever slept on - it smelt like laundry detergent and was so soft he felt his joints lightening just laying there.

Cas sat on the edge of his bed near the window fully dressed and uptight looking but had a pleased expression on his face. It seemed that Dean's delight was enough for Cas.  
"Heaven is rather corporeal, Dean and I have no idea why humans believe it consists of clouds and halos."

"So you don't have a halo? That sucks man, that always seemed like one of your cooler features." Dean turned his head towards Cas and looked at him through tired slits. Cas shook his head and held his hands out as if to say oh-well-what-can-ya-do.

"But you do have wings, right? That wasn't just for show or anything was it?" Dean asked, thinking about the first time he'd ever seen the wings. In that barn shortly after his ressurection, when he'd still been in shock over Cas' existence and horrified that he couldn't kill him. The wings had flashed behind Cas and awe had risen up in Dean's chest against his will. At the time, the angel had been an enemy, a threat but those wings - even in shadow - had been so beautiful and enthralling. He'd thought about them for weeks, as they tracked down as much lore and information on angels.

"Yes, of course. I need them to fly, Dean." Cas admonished softly, like Dean should know the ins and outs of angelhood. Dean opened his eyes and noticed that Cas had still not unwinded.

"Take off the trenchcoat Cas, you're making me anxious." Cas' eyebrows bunched together, probably trying to figure out the connection between his coat and Dean's anxiety. Dean could have explained it to him but instead he just quietly continued speaking. "You're not leaving, right?" The words came out self conscious and fragile, sounding like they belonged in someone else's throat.

Cas hesitated but eventually said, "I should return to Heaven, but not until you're asleep." Dean sighed and turned to look up at the popcorn ceiling. His shirt rose up on his belly and he rested his hand there tiredly.

"Will you come back?"

"I will be here the moment you wake up, Dean." Cas said gently and reassuringly. It was strange but his voice felt like a warm blanket. It comforted Dean and he found himself dozing off but he didn't want to sleep yet and kept jerking awake. "You should rest, Dean. You've been working yourself far too hard this past week." Non-stop driving and avoiding his issues had tired him out but he was afraid that when he closed his eyes Cas would be gone. What if he woke up in the middle of the night and the other bed was empty?

He had drank himself into a stupor all the other nights so that he wouldn't wake up and realize he was alone but Cas had outlawed excessive alcohol, saying that he couldn't keep refreshing Dean's liver. "Not yet," Dean said, contradicting his words by getting up and crawling under the blankets. He opened his eyes to look at Cas, who surprisingly had taken his advice and removed the trenchcoat. He looked like a different person without that permanent fixture. The lamp was closer to Cas and Dean opened his mouth to ask him to turn off the light but it was off before he could finish his sentence.

In the dark, Dean smiled. "Did you read my mind, Cas?"

"No, I just know you." That was far too intimate for this situation and for Dean's psyche so he ignored it and hunkered down under the comfortable quilt. Despite his wishes, his exhaustion was too strong and he couldn't keep his eyes open. They were so heavy and he was so tired, he started to wonder why he was even fighting it.

"Good night, Dean. Sleep well."

\-------------------

Castiel waited until Dean's mind had calmed and his breathing was regulating smoothly before he stood up from the bed. Methodically he put his trenchcoat on and checked the room. He checked the locks and the windows, made sure Dean was covered and that the air conditioner in the room would maintain a comfortable temperature. He turned off the tv and placed the remote on the side table within Dean's reach. He touched the back of his charge's head gently with two fingers and ensured that he would sleep through the night.

He and Dean had always had a profound bond, Castiel mused as he watched him sleep with a warm human feeling in his chest. Dean was both an open book and Metatron's writing - a tablet that Castiel couldn't read but understood in his grace. He knew without being told that Dean feared the night, feared waking to find himself alone and he wished he could stay there and watch over him through the night.

Years ago, before he'd ever descended into Hell to save Dean Winchester, Castiel would have been shocked to find that desire inside him. Not only because angels desired nothing but because watching patiently for millenia over the Earth is not the same level of boredom that is watching over one human being from a vessel. Watching one measly human being sleep for hours on end would have been punishment, but now it was a reward.

Shaking his thoughts aside, Castiel pat Dean gently on the back to relieve the sleepy tension in the hunter's back. Dean had been too tense, hypervigilant and pushing himself to his extremes lately. This was not surprising, for Sam's death and the apocalypse were only a week in the past, but it troubled Castiel nonetheless.

Between that moment and the next, Castiel was flying. To fly is the most precious gift God has given the angels, especially to angels in long-term vessels. To shed human skin, and mortal weight, and stretch ethereal feathers like tendrils in time - that was holy. The movement between universes, between time and space itself, was the reminder to Castiel that he was not a human being. He was not a mortal no matter his visage, and though he spent time on Earth his being didn't belong there. He belonged on a different wavelength than Dean.

He belonged on a wavelength of creation and destruction, of time and lack thereof, of death and life and the continuous process of them both.

The flight was far too short though between Heaven and Earth and he found himself breaching Heaven's atmosphere sooner than desired. He could have entered through one of the many souls' heavens but he knew that would be like entering a battle sneakily from behind. Though he had abandoned Dean to damage control, Heaven was very much still in shambles.

The extent of destruction was formalized in physical damage.

The pearly gates - which were endlessly tall and as corporeal as anything else in Heaven - were in such disarray that angels had been posted there to watch over the goings on of Heaven. The system which had been automatically set by Michael had collapsed the moment he fell into the Cage and the gates had crumbled under the influx of souls. Metal, or what seemed like metal, was bent and broken, stuck out like yearning fingers.

Castiel could remember when the gates had been erected - thousands of years ago when the very first human beings were sent to the afterlife. They had shimmered with God's light then, but now they were dull like old human blacksmithing.

Two angels were posted at the gates, one of them with a clipboard and a pen and the other with his angel blade. Castiel knew them vaguely in his grace, like he knew the majority of his family. A line of human souls stretched into the horizon and Castiel stalked swiftly to the front.

"Hey, no cutting!" A soul shouted from behind Castiel, rousing mutters amongst the line, and before he could respond or turn around to see who wasn't being numbed by Heaven's overall calm one of the angels had flashed a second blade. The souls settled quickly into silence.

"Castiel, returned so soon?" The angel with the clipboard, who Castiel finally recognized as Xael the ex-leader of the soul registrar. Despite stories and theology, Heaven required a lot of paperwork and Xael had been quite good at it. In a heavyset vessel and looking strained and tired, Xael paused with his pen poised on the page and pat his ruddy face with a handkerchief from his suit pocket. He wasn't sweating but ever since Michael had fallen, and taken the order of Heaven with him, all the angels had been acting strangely human.

"Yes, I am here to speak to Raphael." Castiel said, watching as his brother ushered souls slowly through the gate. He would look down at his clipboard and verify it against the stack of paperwork all the souls held before checking them off and sending them through. It looked like monotonous work and neither Xael nor the souls looked very enthused by it.

"He's in a meeting right now." The domineering angel with the blades and the threateningly large shoulders grunted.

"Ah, ah yes. He is." Xael added distractedly, waving his pen at Castiel before ushering the next soul through.

"A meeting? With who? Why was I not informed?" Castiel asked hurriedly, his hackles rising as he imagined all the ways Raphael could be scheming against him. They had been on rocky terms since the Fall, with Raphael angry at Castiel for letting Michael fall and Castiel angry at Raphael for not taking up his role as Head Archangel and reorganizing Heaven. When Castiel had came to Heaven after the aversion of the apocalypse, he had found Raphael holed up in Michael's private chambers mourning their fallen leader instead of comforting the garrisons.

"It is not important, it's just the Choir. PR, mostly. Next!" Xael assured Castiel, the brawn angel nodding sagely with him.

  
"I will decide if it is important or not, thank you." Castiel moved to step between them through the gates but was stopped by the abrupt press of an angel blade against his chest. 

"Xael-"

"Oh yes, I forgot Castiel. Too much movement between the worlds, angels all over the place, souls getting lost and confused, you understand." Castiel was prepared for Xael to say that he would not be allowed to travel back and forth, he was prepared to fight. He was not prepared for a sticker to glued to his lapel with grace. It read "HELLO MY NAME IS" in big blue font and underneath had Castiel's name written in Enochian.

  
"What does this do to organize Heaven?" Castiel asked, touching the place where his name was written and feeling a light jolt run up his arm and through his grace.

"It was Balthazar's idea, oddly enough, it connects every soul and angel to a large tracking system so that without all-seeing Michael we're able to keep track of everyone. Also it helps the souls identify angels. Next! He said that humans use them for all sorts of things, simple organization until we sort out the system without Michael." Xael said, ushering a soul through and then waving a hasty goodbye to Castiel, who didn't hesitate to follow the soul into Heaven. There was a moment of shifting space and disorientation as he entered Heaven before he found himself in the square.

The square, which was generally considered the center of Heaven, branched off into the separate heavens and contained the living quarters and working areas of the angels. Castiel was unprepared for how many souls meandered in it, their glow interspersed with vesseled angels bustling about trying to sort the souls or doing other separate tasks. He seen Balthazar directing lost souls but he didn't have time to stop and speak to his comrade.

Castiel moved through the square hastily, sliding between souls and even walking straight through a large cluster of especially confused souls. Michael's quarters were in the very center of the square, in the shape of a large twisting oak tree that smoothed down into a building. It's branchs were strong and spanned through Heaven as more of a metaphorical representation of space than a real tree. The tree had whitened with age so that it faded into the hazy, white light of Heaven.

Castiel flicked his hand and the double doors flung open revealing a standard grey hallway with office carpeting and walls speckled with generic paintings. Michael had not been famous for his decorating. He stalked down the hallway, using his enhanced senses to decide quickly which conference room was in use. Room 104 at the end of the hall across from a water fountain was the only one with any angels in it, but most importantly contained Raphael's powerful grace.

"Ah, Castiel. I thought you would be on Earth with your chimp for a bit longer than a few hours." Raphael's deep, thunderous voice drolled when Castiel entered the conference room without hesitation.

"You are running meetings without me, Raphael."

"Are you an archangel, Castiel? Do tell, I would hate to have missed your promotion." Raphael sneered, not looking up from the file folder in front of him. He flicked a paper over to the other side with his grace and Castiel frowned with annoyance. "I am the only archangel in Heaven, Castiel, I will run meetings whenever I wish." The angels in the room politely stayed quiet and focused on the paperwork in front of them.

"Fine, may I ask what this meeting entails?"

"The Choir, Castiel." Samandriel, a younger angel than Castiel, by several millenia, in a young and fresh faced vessel answered eagerly. Raphael snapped him a look and Samandriel flushed, staring resolutely down at the file on the table.

"The Choir," Raphael reiterated sharply through grit teeth. "Has some concerns about the way Heaven is operating, and thinks that if they were given help, they could raise morale and faith." Raphael did not seem to agree, if the mocking expression on his face was an accurate depiction of his feelings.

The Choir was not only the gospel of the Heaven, and the main messenger of Heaven amongst the garrison, it was also involved in the operations of Heaven and especially in the overall community between the angels. The Choir had been set up in the beginning by God with the messenger archangel Gabriel and had established the telepathic and all-encompassing communications. Gabriel and the other archangels, after God's disappearance, had used the Choir as a means of communicating to all the garrisons and after that to helping run Heaven smoothly.

With so many souls and angels in a only sometime corporeal continuumum, the Choir had been the oil in a motor vehicle and kept Heaven running smoothly for hundred thousands of years. After Gabriel had disappeared from Heaven, Michael had taken over the Choir and made it more militial - used as communication in battle and wars more than in faith and familial situations. Now with Michael's fall and Heaven's disarray, the Choir had fallen apart entirely.

"The Choir has been an integral part of Heaven since it's creation, Raphael, and it should be respected." Hester snapped indignantly, her anger flaring around the room. Ever since Heaven and Earth has become closer, the angels had adopted human traits more frequently and Hester had definitely discovered rage, just not rage management.

"She is right, Raphael." Castiel interjected before Raphael could speak and took a seat across the table from his older brother. "The Choir is not just about morale, it is a key part of Heaven's structure. Maybe with the Choir reinstated and supported we would have a starting point for organizing the rest of Heaven."

"We? Are you an angel, Castiel? You spend so much time on Earth, I'd forgotten." Raphael shot, trying to aim at Castiel's weak spot.

"This is not about my time on Earth or Dean Winchester, Raphael this is about Heaven and how if we don't fix it soon, it will crumble beneath us." Castiel pled his brother to understand, to realize the brevity of the situation. There had been crisis in Heaven before, nothing could match the aftermath of Father's departure, but none had reached this level. If they did not tread lightly, Heaven's infrastructure very well could crumble and there was no set plan on how to deal with that event.

"Did I mention Dean Winchester, Samandriel?" Castiel sighed at Raphael's divergence from the subject and pressed on the bridge of his nose as he'd seen Dean do when frustrated.

"Dean Winchester is my charge but Heaven is my responsibility as well, it is all our responsibility. Without Father and without Michael, it is our responsibility to maintain the balance."

"The Choir is not my number one priority, Castiel. That is my final word on the subject, next topic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS MUCH APPRECIATED, THANKS FOR READING!


	3. i miss you, i won't tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't keep running, and Castiel can't keep chasing after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR [CASTIELADRIFT](http://castieladrift.tumblr.com)

Castiel was in Heaven helping with the direction of newly entered souls when he felt a distant, slowly growing buzz in the back of his mind. Dean was waking up. He hurried to tell Xael that he was leaving and turn in his HELLO MY NAME IS sticker which peeled off without losing it's shape.

"You'll get it back when you return." Xael assured him, pressing the sticker into a hefty file folder at his feet. "Until next time, brother."

Castiel slid through dimensions until he landed outside the Holiday Inn Express. His feathers settled restlessly against his spine, his grace yearning to be back in the other dimensions where it could feed off Heaven's power more easily. He shook off the flight and entered the building through automatic doors and a gush of air conditioning.

"Hi! How can I help you?" The receptionist, a different one than the man who had checked them in, gushed smiling a cheerful, hospitable grin.

"I have a room already, thank you." Castiel strode towards the hallway where the elevator was.

"Well breakfast just started! Help yourself!" Castiel paused and turned around to face the receptionist. He considered the request for a moment, rolling his jaw thoughtfully - a mannerism his vessel seemed to cling to from Jimmy.

"Is there apple pie at breakfast?" He finally asked, feeling mildly scolded by the receptionists abrupt laughter. He frowned and the receptionist stopped laughing, though her smile lingered.

"I'm sorry for laughing," She reassured him. "No pie but we do have cinnamon rolls! The chain is pretty famous for them, if you like pie you'll probably like them. Baked fresh, every morning." She set her sales pitch and Castiel was sold. He had never had a cinnamon roll but if he remembered Gabriel, in his short time as an ally, had eaten something called a Cinnabun and said it was greater than God. Blasphemy aside, Castiel decided that Gabriel's sweet tooth would probably coincide well with Dean's preferences.

"Where are these cinnamon rolls?" He asked, looking around the front room for any food but there was none.

"In the dining room, in that hallway on the right. Enjoy!" Castiel was already moving as the receptionist said goodbye. He stalked to the dining room which held tables and a row of counters in the counter covered in food. A business man reading a newspaper and eating cereal was sat in the farthest corner and a tired looking woman with red hair was making herself a cup of coffee.

He left them alone in favor of the breakfast spread. Though he didn't eat, and did not feel desire to, he knew generally what Dean liked. Dean liked greasy and savory foods as much as he enjoyed sugary things so Castiel got a few plates and gathered one of everything. He had seen Sam eat fruit loops once so he grabbed a mini-box of those and a small carton of milk to go with them. He spooned gravy on to a biscuit and sausage patties mechanically.

When he had reached the end of the counter and was balancing three plates of various foods, he found what he was truly looking for. The cinnamon roll's smelt pungently of cinnamon and cloves and as garnish, sugary white cream was drizzled over them. He scooped up two of them, deciding that they were of a large enough size to satisfy Dean's appetite and still leave some for the other guests.

He felt the buzz of Dean's conciousness in the back of his mind again and headed to the elevator. It was easy for him to balance the plates on his arms with the use of his grace, though it would have looked impossibly precarious to anyone watching.

In the elevator, Castiel shamelessly disappeared.

He reappeared in the room, placing the plates down on the tv stand and sitting down on his empty and neat bed. Dean had been inbetween sleep and waking for awhile but now his eyelids started to move and his heart picked up from it's resting bpm. He snuffled into his pillow and shifted to turn and face Castiel.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel said softly, leaning down slightly so that Dean could better see him through slitted eyelids pressed halfway into the pillow. His chest tightened and his grace flared gently when a sleepy smile spread over Dean's face.

"Hey, Cas." Dean yawned and flexed his whole body in one smooth motion to lay on his back. "How was the big sandbox in the sky?"

Castiel assumed he meant Heaven, in the strange joking manner that Dean always had. He sighed, staring down at his hands and a long ago healed cut on Jimmy's left thumb. "Heaven is...in chaos."

"When head honcho is away, the angels will play huh?" Dean chuckled drily, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. There was a light smile on his face, lingering from sleep. "God, Cas I've never slept so good. This bed is like a fucking cloud."

"I am glad you slept well, Dean. Good rest is important." Castiel smiled suddenly, remembering the other suprise getting cold near the tv. "As is food."

"Eh, later." Dean waved a hand, dismissing food. "I want to soak up as much time in this baby as possible before they kick us out."

"No, now." Castiel ordered, snapping a finger. The plates disappeared from the counter and reappeared around Dean's legs.

"Whoa!" Dean jolted, his hands falling from his eyes at the buffet suddenly in his lap. His eyes bulged and the smile grew from a memory to a bright grin. "Geez Cas, this is a lot of food. You raid a Denny's or something?"

"The hotel offers breakfast, apparently." Dean seemed pleasantly surprised and he bobbed his head happily.

"Never stayed in a hotel with food before, this is great." He grabbed the plate with sausage and biscuits first and dug in, devouring the food like he hadn't eaten in days. Deep moans weaseled out of Dean's mouth around the food as he ate with gusto.

"The receptionist says the cinnamon rolls are famous." Castiel told him. Dean nodded agreeably, picking one up and swallowing what was already in his mouth. He bit into the pastry and a loud, pleased moan rolled through the air and down Castiel's spine.

"Oh my sweet jesus, Cas. You gotta try this, come 'er." Dean pat the clear edge of the bed which Castiel filled immediately. "Open up." Dean ordered him to open his mouth and as soon as Castiel awkwardly complied his mouth was full of pastry. He felt Dean's fingers brush against his mouth before pulling away.

"Amazing huh?" Dean asked as Castiel chewed thoughtfully.

The taste was underwhelming and both too strong and too weak for his senses. It crawled down his throat and stuck between his teeth. He didn't tell Dean that though, instead he just smiled and nodded. He studied Dean's face, which was beautifully relaxed and pleased for perhaps the first time in Castiel's friendship with the man. He was smiling and his eyes were bright, and Castiel found himself enthralled in them. Now so green and so young and so bright, when they were usually dulled by adversity and pain.

"Yes, amazing." Castiel smiled.

\----------------------------------

There were several days following the Holiday Inn Express in which Castiel exhausted his grace traveling between Heaven and Earth every day. He was tired, and stressed - his grace taut in anxiety as work in Heaven crawled and the situation on Earth came to a complete standstill. Dean, who frequently hopped between mild happiness and utter depression, refused to talk about Sam, the apocalypse, Heaven, etc. Any topic that was serious was quickly and harshly rejected.

"Dean...where are we headed?" Castiel had asked one day after several hours in the impala.

Dean was in a good mood, listening to Back In Black and singing along. They'd recently finished a case in Idaho which had been simple and easily taken care of, though it at first had been very baffling and research was required. Rich drug addicts from the rehabilitation center were being kidnapped, and it had taken some forceful FBI digging to get the tight-lipped facility to admit that all the residents had disappeared on one Nurse Montgomery's shift.

It hadn't been until the blade was about to chop off her head that Nurse Montgomery admitted she liked the high.

  
"It's like injecting expensive cocaine straight into my soul." She'd gasped, fangs distorting her voice. She laughed, that was distorted too by her drug-induced insanity and it ran down Castiel's spine in a chilling cackle. "The high! Oh, Dean you _wish_ -"

Dean slammed the machete down and it ripped through the neck like it was nothing more than a slice of bread. Castiel watched Dean silently as he wiped the blade clean on the vampire's jacket. He cleaned the machete longer than necessary, until it shined so clearly Castiel could see Dean's reflection in it. "Dean..." Castiel had trailed off, unsure what to say. He wanted to assure him, maybe. Maybe warn him? In times of trouble, Castiel had observed, humans frequently turned towards drugs - and if a vampire could fall prey to it, then how easily could a human being, especially one as troubled as Dean?

"Let's go." Dean brushed past him with a hit of the shoulder and Castiel didn't mention the numb gaze he'd seen in the blade.

In the present Dean shut down as he had in the past, and stopped singing. It felt to Castiel like when the Choir first fell from order, and the garrison's dropped into eerie silence. It would insult many but Dean's voice was almost more great than the voices of Heaven, as it rang free and bright without the aid of Heaven. Castiel thought that maybe there had never been a voice as beautiful as Dean's when he was happy.

"It is just that we've been traveling for three weeks Dean, and have crossed three states. You need rest, Dean."

"You keep saying that!" Dean shouted, blowing up as Castiel had anticipated. "You need rest, Dean. You need to stop and rest, Dean." He mocked Castiel's deep voice, even his face changing to flatten dramatically. Castiel rolled his eyes and glanced between the window and Dean moodily.

"You do, Dean. It has been three weeks since Sam's death-"

The car veered off the road immediately, throwing Castiel into the passenger side door as he hadn't expected the sudden movement. He braced himself on the window and felt his grace heat up angrily. Dean threw the impala into park and before Castiel could snap at him, the locks had all popped up.

"Get out." Dean bit the words through gritted teeth, and though they were quiet they felt like a slap.

"Dean-"

"No," Dean snapped. "We do not, under any circumstances fucking talk about Sam. Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?"

"Dean I'm worried about you." Castiel snarled. "This is not healthy for you, this repression and constant running. You cannot run away from Sam's death." Castiel gravitated towards Dean and continued, trying to press the words through Dean's thick head. "You need to restart your life instead of wallowing in this car like _John Winchester_ did."

"Fucking watch me." Dean reached across Castiel and threw open the door. "Get out."

Castiel sighed, a heavy weight falling on his shoulders as he got out of the impala. He could have simply disappeared from the car, like he'd done before in conflicts with Dean but it was satisfyingly human to stand there on the side of the road as Dean drove away.

There was pain in his chest - anguish from watching the impala disappear over the horizon, resignation from being pushed away and distrusted yet again, and a sea of cloying emotions Castiel couldn't identify. Maybe he had his grace, and his wings, and his nametag in Enochian but angels were not made to feel this way - which meant that in every way that mattered, he was no angel.

Now when he went to the pearly gates and experienced Xael's faux surprise at his early arrival he felt hopelessness he'd seen in humans. Guiding souls and having ideas rejected by Raphael seemed tedious and worthless. Healing Heaven was of little import when he could not heal Dean.

\--------------------------------

_"...like John Winchester did."_

_"...like John Winchester did."_

_"...like John Winchester did."_

Cas's snarled jab rang in Dean's ears, even after 4 hours and even more beers. He lay on the squeaky single queen in a backwoods Montana motel and stared at the spinning ceiling. He hadn't bothered to strip off his boots or shower. He hadn't even bothered to eat in hours, instead he had packed the impala up early and settled in for the night with a six pack and a bottle of Jack for when he woke up later.

Drinking and brooding were his specialities after all.

"I'm not my Father." Dean muttered to the room. The air conditioner clicked on with a roar immediately afterwards and Dean looked at it. 63 degrees. No wonder it was fucking freezing.

"I'm not." He reiterated, studying the blurry patterns on the ceiling closer. One of them looked like a gun but between blinks it changed to a bunny and then to a car.   
It was getting late and he smelt like ass from being on the road for over a day. Petulance had risen up in him the night before and he'd refused to have Cas swindle them into a fancy room, hell he'd refused to even pay for a shitty one. They had - or well, **he** had slept in the back of the impala with his head propped up on his jacket.

Even though he'd woken up with a crick in his neck and his back aching, the bitterness at being treated like a mental case had subsided. That's what Cas was doing! Even if the angel didn't see it that way...the hotel rooms, and the constant wheedling to rest had risen Dean's hackles slowly but it was the babysitting that had really done him in eventually.   
Cas radiated exhaustion like Dean radiated B.O. right now but he'd been there every day. From the moment Dean opened his eyes to the moment he closed them Cas was there by his side. In the beginning Dean had been grateful, more grateful than he'd even been comfortable showing Cas.

But each hunt and each state and each _mile_ got them closer to a place Dean did not want to be. The place where Cas had forced him earlier today.

_"Dean...where are we headed?"_

Dean laughed darkly and propped himself up on his elbow to take a drink from the Jack bottle, he was sobering up. If only he'd been drunk earlier, any number of clever retorts could have rolled off his tongue. _"Timbuktu, Cas. Why you got a request? Driver decides where to go, shotgun reads the map."_

Yet at the time all he had thought was that not even God could know where they were headed. If there was one, the god of directions was probably having a heart attack. Dean chose exits randomly and drove without even a short term plan. He got on roads that had names he didn't recognize just so that he wouldn't accidentally end up somewhere he'd been before.

The U.S. stretched on for thousands of miles and Dean couldn't have seen it all. There had to be diners and motels and strip clubs that he hadn't already prowled, he just needed to get off the beaten path and find them.

"Yo ho!" Dean shouted and thrust the bottle of Jack into the air, splashing some all over his front. _A wanderer's life for me_ , he finished in his head.

The hotel room was too quiet without Cas, though he'd hardly been the chatty type. But he breathed and shifted and taken up space that was now disturbingly empty. Maybe Dean had only been grateful for Cas because he filled the second queen bed. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

He took another drink and almost dropped the bottle when he went to put it down on the floor. Not as if the carpet would suffer from some more stains though. An impulse shot through him to just upturn the bottle and pour it out right there, watch it soak into the carpet.

He resisted and turned his head to look at the alarm clock. The red numbers blurred too much for him to read but if he squinted enough he could almost make out a 9. Only 9 o'clock? Way too early for any self respecting grown man to go to sleep. Only old people and kids went to sleep before 12 and only civilians before 2.

There had been a bar on the way to the motel but there had been an endless train of motorcycles outside of it. In a sober state, it would be a great place to hustle pool and get some pocket cash but drunk as he was, it was more likely he'd get hustled. Maybe even mugged. His pretty face had always upset the biker types.

No strip clubs had been visible and those establishments weren't exactly known for their subtlety. Dean had gone to one once that had PUSSY plastered on the roof in neon lights. Not the best lookers at that joint.

Food though, food he could go for. If he distracted himself with his thoughts long enough, the further Cas' words got and the easier it was to remember other things like food existed. He tried to sit up but his body didn't seem to get the message and he just kind of flopped up and lolled there. His mind and his body felt like quicksand.

Too drunk to drive, too drunk to even walk. With his luck a cop would pick him up for being disorderly if he tried to walk into town like this.

Maybe a shower would sober him up. (Maybe a shower would make him forget the empty room.)

He sat up and tried to stand, leaning heavily on the sidetable. He managed to get his feet underneath him but his knees buckled momentarily. He locked his knees tight and marched stiff legged to the bathroom. The room spun.

  
"Ah, fuck!" Dean snapped when he marched straight into the tv cabinet. Pain shot blearily through his shin. He used the wall and towel bar to stay standing as he undressed, peeling off layers of uncomfortably sweaty clothes. The shower felt a million miles away but he managed to get in and stay standing by gripping the soap ledge.

A shower might not have been his brightest idea but he was already here, might as well finish what he'd started. He turned on the water without thinking and yelped as cold water cascaded directly onto him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Eventually the water turned hot, scorching hot but it was a relief after the icy chill in the beginning. At least the water had woken him up some; though he could definitely still feel the alcohol in his system and still needed the soap ledge to stay standing, he felt a bit more like a functioning human being than a zombie.

This shitty motel in the middle of nowhere actually had pretty good water pressure and it pounded against his back and unknotted the tension in his neck and shoulders. Air conditioner, good water pressure, wifi - little town Idaho was a pretty good place to stay.

He cleaned his body with a bar of hotel soap he'd stolen from Holiday Inn Express a few weeks ago and had been slowly working down. Every square inch of grime that was scrubbed off felt like a weight taken off his chest.

He closed his eyes and soaped his chest in lazy circular motions. _Cas, Cas who?_ He didn't need anyone, he wasn't some goddamn kid or mental patient - no handler needed, no sir.

Heat swirled in the room, fogging up the shower door and walls. It burned his skin a little bit but his pain tolerance kept it pleasant instead of painful. Languid relaxtion spread through his veins for the first time in weeks as the water absorbed into his skin. With the size of the shower and the overwhelming, and surprising, amount of heated vapor, the water felt like a hug. Dean could almost imagine it was a person.

He did not imagine it was Castiel. He did not.

He did not imagine Castiel was there, supporting him on his unstable feet. He was not pressing a stolen hand to the handprint on Dean's shoulder; there was no scratchy cheeks rubbing and kissing all the places where Dean's imperfections used to be and Castiel was the only one who remembered.

After he came, the water ran lukewarm and Dean went to bed alone feeling hollowed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS MUCH APPRECIATED, THANK YOU FOR READING!


	4. heaven's falling i can't catch it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> castiel and dean have a hard time being apart. they come back together over tequila shots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK ME OUT ON [TUMBLR](http://thorinsonofdurin.tumblr.com)

In the past, Heaven had calmed souls and angels alike under the power of God's presence. It was in the air and it soothed all pains. There was no stress, no mourning, and no sadness in Heaven. The angels, who had been created for their objectivity, were kept impassive and isolated by the tranquility. The human souls were filtered through to the after life with gentle smiles and hazy eyes.

Castiel had been a warrior since the world was created so his time in the center had been short lived and infrequent. The Choir and the natural organization of Heaven had kept the influx of souls moving steadily.

Even at his worst of times - after terrible battle losses, after Father's departure, after the seals had been broken - he had been able to feel the thrum of Heaven in his grace like a heartbeat. The calm of God and Heaven had been in his being since the beginning of time and even when faith had been lost, that glowing light had never shaken.

Now, standing above a terrified, wailing seventeen year old boy the sensation of belonging shook. It shook and it quivered and it fell apart, like broken glass. "Please! Please I'm sorry, don't send me to Hell!" The boy was so young that baby fat still clung to his cheeks which were blushed red as he sobbed. Heaven had not healed him of his raging acne, which distorted his face even more combined with the hysterical crying. The name tag pressed to his chest read "Joshua Hart, car accident".

Castiel clutched the collar of another soul, who had engaged Joshua Hart in a fight. A fourty year old African-American pastor, Marcus Waters had been the first member of the religiou community Castiel had seen after raising Dean from Hell. This man had been waiting in line for over a year as Heaven, and the world, had collapsed. His name tag noted that he'd died during a demonic possession but it didn't mention how his blood had dripped off the demon knife. Marcus Waters had been a casualty and until being assigned to his line, Castiel had forgotten about him.

"Stop struggling Mr. Waters. And please stop yelling Mr. Hart." Castiel pleaded, holding Marcus away from the line.

"Fuck you!" Marcus shouted. The righteous always fall.

"Balthazar!" Castiel shouted, his voice carrying through heaven vocally instead of telepathically. With the Choir still floundering under Raphael's stubbornness and the disorganization the angels were unable to speak to each other telepathically. It was difficult to accept and many angels refused to speak at all until the bond was fixed. Balthazar thankfully was close enough to hear, with a line of his own parallel to Castiel's.

"Well Cassy, you've made the tot cry." Joshua wailed as Balthazar appeared next to Castiel, light glistening on the angel blade in his hand. "What happened here?"

"They were fighting." Castiel did not say that he had lost his temper and thrown them apart for grumbling about skipping and injustice. He could feel his grace still flaring at the corner of his iris' and hands. That would be more than enough of an indication to Balthazar about what had happened.

"Over what? Hm?" Balthazar squatted down by Joshua's head and pressed two fingers to the boy's forehead. Castiel jolted, his grip slackening on Marcus enough for the man to slither away and jump back several feet. Grace bled through the young boy's crying eyes in a slow pervasive spread, the opposite of the sudden blare of a smiting. The light faded quickly and Balthazar smiled up at Castiel. Joshua's head lolled and where a grimace of fear had been now rested a dopey, gentle smile.

"What did you do?" Castiel asked, watching warily as the souls in his line muttered amongst themselves resentfully and inched away from the conflict. Balthazar ignored his question and lifted Joshua up to a sitting position where his head fell back at an awkward angle and he couldn't support himself. Though there was life in his flushed skin and hazy eyes, his body was limp like a fresh corpse. Balthazar had to support the boy's entire weight as they stood up and the sight turned Castiel's stomach upside down in a decidedly human way. "Balthazar!"

"Shh, Cassy he's fine. A little grace to calm him down." Balthazar stood the boy up and after a few moments of support, Joshua could stand on his own though he swayed shakily. Balthazar shushed Castiel when he tried to speak and put one hand on either side of Joshua's face.

"What is your name?"

"Joshua Hart." The boy's voice was devoid of emotion despite the smile spread across his face.

"Where are you?"

"Heaven."

"Are you grateful to be here? You're eager for your afterlife aren't you?" Balthazar continued, directing the boy to look him in the eye. Joshua nodded dazedly.

"You're going to stand in line and patiently let us do our job right? No skipping, no grumbling, or I'll have to come back over here. We don't want that, do we mate?" Balthazar had a lightly humorous lilt to his accent but the look on his face was anything but joking. Joshua nodded and Balthazar pushed him back to the line, which was mostly still formed but curved away from the angels.

"Balthazar, it's wrong to use your grace like that." Marcus was somewhere behind him and when Balthazar went to step around to get to the human he moved to block the path.

"It's wrong."

"He's not harmed. He's healed, Castiel." Balthazar assured him with a gentle voice and a hand on his shoulder. "If Heaven wasn't, almost literally, going to Hell again he would have been slipped the same grace calming draught the moment he passed through the gates. I'm just doing my part." Balthazar yanked Marcus forcibly from behind Castiel and pressed fingers to the man's forehead before he could get out any protests. Castiel's hands folded into agitated fists at the sight of grace erasing the man's expression, and the resulting smile felt rigid and plastic to Castiel.

Balthazar guided the dazed man back to line. Though there had been mutters and grumbles amongst the souls as the angels had been preoccupied when Balthazar faced the line, there was icy silence.

"Let's get back to work, Castiel. Lots of dead people to sort." Before Balthazar left to go back to his own line, he pressed his angel blade into Castiel's hand. "Fear is a good tactic, Castiel."

Castiel hesitated, his stoic reflection distorted in the shiny, sharp panes of the blade. He'd used his grace and his sword in battle before and had wiped blood and viscera from it countless times, but now the clean blade seemed like an illusion.

This was not Heaven.

Lines and swords and grumbles were not what the afterlife should look like.

\---------------------------------------------------

Dean woke up alone. Sleep had been different, which was strange. Castiel had told him he left the moment Dean was truly asleep, and went to Heaven, so Dean slept alone in the motel every night.

Those nights though had never felt like this one. Castiel had always been there in spirit, watching over him like a guardian angel and on some level Dean had felt that protection. Last night, after what happened in the shower, he'd felt vulnerable and raw - laid out on the lonely queen mattress like it was a gurney.

When had Castiel become such a huge part of him that he slept different without him? Dean grumbled, massaging his aching back as he shuffled to the bathroom. He was getting too old for motel beds, which was just darkly hilarious because Sam would get a kick out of it. Sam would never let it go, calling him old man and making elderly jokes left and right. Cas would probably massage his back if Dean asked.

That was a weird image (not necessarily a bad one) but it ran over Dean's mind wrong so he ignored it and thought only of his actions.  
His mind tried to get back to Cas no matter how focused he was on brushing his teeth so he let go and wondered where the angel might be. Heaven of course, but where? Chilling with the other angels? Becoming head angel in charge?

He spit out the toothpaste and rinsed, that thought resonating in his mind.

Two feelings were prevalent whenever he thought of Cas becoming the new Michael, one being that any heavenly leader seemed to be a huge dick. If Cas became in charge of Heaven would it change him?

Probably. Being in charge of the Cosmos under God must be a pretty heady job.

Two, and Dean was ashamed to admit it even to himself, Castiel in charge was a glorious image. Castiel, gleaming with righteous indignation, was the first creature to really put Dean in his place; memories of that night in the alley still lingered in Dean's dreams in bursts of passion and anger and sadness. Dean understood, logically, that being beaten by an all-powerful angel shouldn't be a good memory but it was in some ways. The pain hadn't been fun, and angering Cas in that way wasn't worth it but...the care.

Dean had protected Sammy his whole life. He had defended and taken care of his Dad in his mindless vengeance (Daddy's little soldier). Even as a toddler he'd held his Mom as she cried over their Father.

His middle name was practically Protector.

It felt nice knowing that he was an all-mighty servant of Heaven's first choice. Someone who could teleport, and travel in time, and control the universe had picked him as their number one draft pick! Getting attached to that type of power and focus was dangerous, as shown by Castiel's rage when he was looking for a way to sacrifice himself, but it was also addictive.

He could be loved by God, who chose him as the shitty Righteous Man and tossed him and his family to the snakes; or he could be loved by Castiel, who would bend Heaven backwards for him.

Dean smiled, leaning on the counter distractedly, before remembering that Castiel was gone. Gone for good reason. Dean's smile faded, thinking of Baby out there - his only constant on this endless road trip.

Castiel wanted to fix him, wanted to sit him down somewhere permanent and declare him a finished work. The angel couldn't understand that Dean had lived his whole life on the road, settling down wasn't even really an option. Especially not when the one person who had wanted stability, who had wanted to know "where they were headed", was now in Hell and Dean couldn't get him out even with a demon's deal. Dean wasn't a finished work without Sam.

He gathered up his meager assortment of stuff and checked out, giving the room key to a bored looking upper midwest teenager chewing gum. She gave him a complementary fruit that he guessed passed as the motel breakfast. He took the orange and got in his car, sitting there for a silent moment before reversing out of the small parking lot.

Baby grumbled underneath him soothingly and though there was no one in the seat beside him, he had done this before. He'd driven alone, he'd done hunts alone - back when Dad was AWOL and Sam was off living the California dream. He didn't need Cas, or anyone. What he did need was a drink.

\---------------------------

Maybe he did need someone.

He'd been working on a pretty slow case for a few days. A small coven of vampires in Montana, with only three confirmed members, who had been sucking people halfway and dropping them at hospitals with amnesia. They seemed weak, or maybe just hesitant to kill, but either way, they hadn't been either when they'd grabbed Dean in their coven and tried to bite him.

If Sam had been there, there would have been no problem. Three decapitations, done, done done. Alone, they were able to sneak up behind him as he tried to save their human bait, and without the stake he'd had ready, they might have succeeded in taking him down. Luckily he'd been able to get out of their den, a rundown barn up on a big hill surrounded by dense trees, back to the sunshine which protected him long enough to get to this bar.  
He limped his way inside and went straight to the bar.

"Hey beautiful, can I get a couple shots of tequila?" He asked the bartender, a brunette with a heart shaped face. On her cheek was a mole but it didn't distract from her appearance for Dean, though maybe for other men, since she seemed surprised by being called beautiful. Dean smiled and she smiled and for a moment it felt like old times.

"Dean."

"What the fuck?!" Dean almost fell off his bar stool, just barely catching himself on the lip of the bar. Castiel leaned over him, staring intensely own at him like he was being an unruly child for being surprised. Dean hadn't seen Cas for three days, during which he definitely HAD NOT thought about the angel or what he might be doing.

Cas of course looked the same and was even dressed in the same Jimmy get-up circa 2008. Something was different though and Dean chuckled. "What's with the name tag? They forget you up there?" Dean almost forgot about the bartender but when he turned he found three shots in front of him and the girl down the bar casually cleaning up glasses. She didn't seem unsettled by the man who popped out of nowhere so Cas must have mindwiped her or something.

Cas looked down at his chest like he'd forgotten he had one and Dean imagined doing that stupid joke with the finger up the chest to him. Cas' face would be hilarious and he probably wouldn't get how it was funny, but they were still on somewhat shaky ground so he held back. He would say though that he hadn't expected Cas to crack first on the cold war-esque standstill.

"Heaven is in disarray, this is simply an attempt at organization. I forgot to give it back, I suppose." Castiel waved at the nametag which Dean was pretty sure read Cas' name in enochian. It glowed at him uncomfortably like it was sentient and blinking so Dean looked away and made to grab a shot before pausing. The girl had left a salt shaker and a little bowl of limes, though he hadn't asked for them. He could usually swallow the shots alone, especially if he was feeling masochistic but he smiled and grabbed the salt instead. "Dean I came-"

"Shut up, and lick your hand." Cas' eyebrows shot together in confusion and Dean laughed. "Here, watch me." Dean licked the part where his thumb met his hand and shook salt onto it. Cas watched him with intense eyes and then did it himself, the image strangely attractive for a stiff man awkwardly licking his hand. He quickly shook salt onto Cas' hand and when he looked up, Cas had leant in towards Dean and tilted his head in confusion.

"What are we doing?"

"Tequila shots. Here hold this with your salt hand." Dean handed Cas a slice of lime and took one for himself.

"Watch me." Without waiting, knowing Cas would be able to catch the nuances, Dean took a breathe, licked the salt and tossed by the shot. He was glad the bartender had given the lime despite his lack of request because damn was this cheap shit. He'd been at a lot of shady bars in his life but this tequila tasted like it was made in a dumpster outside. He bit in the lime quickly and laughed at the feeling as the liquor tempered under the lime. "Go on, Cas. Breathe, salt, shot and lime."

Cas was nervous, Dean could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders and the awkward grip on the shotglass. "Relax, Cas. It's supposed to be fun, you're not heading into battle." Cas' could head into battle and barely bat an eyelash, send the dude into a bar or a strip club and he tightens up like a clam.

Dean regretted doing this the moment Cas' took a big breath and ran his tongue over his hand. They were sitting too close together, Dean realized from far away, he could practically see the salt on Cas' tongue. Cas' neck was obscene when he threw back the shot, just like Dean had. Dean almost lost himself at the burst of lime juice on the angel's lips when Cas' bit into it.

He had none of the common human responses, like a screwed up face or a shout, basically he had no reaction at all but Dean did. He groaned at the flush rising up on Cas' cheeks and the bright light in Cas' eyes.

"That was...interesting." Cas rasped, running a finger over the rough patch on his hand where salt lingered. Dean pushed the other shot towards the angel, even though only he could really get drunk from these. Cas licked his hand again, his tongue running over his lips after and Dean sprinkled the salt on it, holding Cas' fingers softly. Cas took the lime from him and went through the process, throwing his head back and making Dean shift uncomfortably in his seat.

Objectively, Jimmy Novak was a pretty attractive man. Good jawline, bright eyes, cheekbones that could make a super model cry. He wasn't skinny, he wasn't buff, he was an average bodied man with a good face and great hands. Dean was humiliated to say he couldn't keep it together watching Castiel swallow the shot and lime juice. He reached out without thinking and touched Cas' neck, where he had watched the tendon jut out during the shot.

They were too close, Dean's breath surely brushing over Castiel's. The bartender would think things that weren't true, and this bar wasn't exactly in San Francisco. Dean couldn't even blame it on the alcohol like Jamie Foxx had said to, he was barely buzzed. Cas' eyes were huge and so blue Dean felt like he was staring into the sky and it hurt. His vision swirled when he looked into them, like they were hypnotizing him.

"I missed you, Cas." He whispered, running his fingers up to the back of Cas' neck where they tangled in short windblown hair.

"I missed you as well, Dean." Cas' hand came to rest on Dean's knee and it was like a shock to his system. He sucked in a breathe that was too sharp and he shifted uncomfortably on the bar stool. Dean pulled back, his hand lingering on Cas' neck before falling down into his own lap. Cas' hand lingered until Dean gave it a hard look and it moved back to rest in Cas' lap.

"So why are you here? You find a way to get Sam out... or did Heaven send you to deliver more bad news and Raphael wants to wear me now?" Dean caught the bartenders' eye and gestured for her to come over. "Hi, can I get whiskey? Cheapest you got, thanks."

"Raphael does not want to 'wear you', he and my brothers believe this is the time to reorganize and finally make sense of what Father left behind. I came-"

"Did you find a way to get Sam out?" Dean cut Cas off, accepting the tumbler from the bartender and throwing back a large gulp. Cas still called him Father, Dean realized, even after all that disappointment and spiraling during the search.

Cas' expression soured, his eyebrows knitting together more dramatically than normal. "There is no way into the Cage without being caught inside myself, letting Lucifer or Michael or both out, or burning myself into ashes in the attempt."

"Yeah well Father can just bring you back right?" Dean asked darkly, sneering the word Father. He knew he was being an asshole but he didn't want to hear what Cas was saying, he didn't want to hear that Cas had been spending all his time in Heaven "reorganizing" while Sam literally burned in Hell. The mood from a few minutes ago, that entrancing heated eye contact that had lit Dean aflame for the first time in days, had dissipated and left the same residual anger behind.

Dean could feel it billowing off of Cas' in waves and it burned in his own veins. It was the same ever-there anger that had pushed Dean to kick Cas out, it was the same that had probably kept Cas away for these three days. They stared at each other in competition for a few moments, just weighing each other. Cas' chest was puffed up with frustration and Dean refused to act like he cared if Cas was here, leaning back on the counter and splaying out as much as possible on the stool.

Finally Cas seemed to exhale and give up, his chest relaxing but his face as unhappy as before. "I came to tell you there are three vampires circling your hotel. Be careful." Cas got this look on his face like he was about to disappear and Dean reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Why are you checking up on my hotel?" Dean asked, quietly. The whiskey and tequila had settled warm in his stomach and his bloodstream, which he would blame later for this. His fingers moved slowly under the sleeve of the trenchcoat to run over Cas' bare wrist. His skin was warm, like it should be wearing such a heavy coat at this time of year. Cas looked away from him, staring hard at the counter. "Cas?"

"I have watched you every night I was able since I raised you from Hell, Dean. I won't change that just because you removed me from the impala."

"Every night?" Dean asked, tugging on the sleeve awkwardly. His skin was a lot tanner than Cas', though Jimmy had a healthy glow to him too. Their hands contrasted as Cas placed his firmly over Dean's.

"Every night, Dean. You will never be alone if I am alive." Dean's throat closed up from a big ball of emotion and he hung his head. Cas' was too good to him, too good for him.

"Don't leave again, Cas." His voice was barely over a whisper. "I can't be alone."

"You are never alone, Dean Winchester. Never."

\-------------------------

Things change after that night.

Dean tempers out a little bit, though the itch to keep moving never goes away. The itch to save Sam doesn't either, but Cas is closed-lip about the Cage and Dean is out of options. Not many demons are willing to make deals at all anymore, with Heaven cracking down on demonic activity pretty heavily. It seems they were serious about that whole "reorganizing" thing as the world hasn't had any major disasters or huge supernatural upheavals since the apocalypse was averted.

If Cas was giving 0 on the Cage, he was giving 100 on Heaven. Dean almost couldn't get him to shut up about it, about the "Choir" which Dean had never even heard of before, about the lines, about the nametags. Sometimes a wistful sadness would pass over Cas' face when he spoke about what Heaven had been like before all this, before their Father left.

"It was beautiful in a way I can't explain to you, Dean." Cas said out of the blue one night. The angel was lounging in Dean's bed, dressed in his suit and trenchcoat even though Dean had offered him some normal clothes. Without discussion, Cas had started staying some nights with Dean and though Dean slept amazing, he did worry that Cas was skimping on his responsibilities to Heaven. All they needed, on top of everything, was heavenly wrath coming down because Cas was missing angel class for Dean.

"Try." Dean ordered sleepily, hunched down under his blanket and nursing his swollen face from a fight with a wendigo where he'd gotten knocked around pretty bad. After Cas and he took down the vampire coven that had grabbed him, they'd only driven a couple hours before stopping at a gas station and finding a new case. Though Heaven had stopped the serious stuff, supernatural creatures were still pretty abundant.

"Heaven was a living creature, I suppose. Though my brothers and I are separate entities, we are also one." Dean shifted on the bed and Cas paused, looking down at him. The lights were dim, only one shitty hotel lamp across the room on, and Cas voice had the same rumbling quality of a Kansas thunderstorm rolling in. This feeling wasn't common in Dean's life but he cherished it as it came, huddling under the blankets and closing his eyes. "It is difficult for a human to grasp, you are all so used to being independent. You function from birth as something that willingly coexists but in Heaven that is our nature."

"So you're saying that," Dean tried to talk but his face was so swollen and aching that he broke off into a hiss of pain. He whispered, trying not to move his mouth too much. His words barely carried past his blanket but he was sure Cas would hear him. "like, since you're here, Raphael and everyone else is here too? Am I sharing a bed with all of Heaven right now?"

Cas laughed at Dean's offended, and disgusted, tone and shook his head seriously. "No, it doesn't quite work like that. But it doesn't work like that at all anymore." Cas' voice dropped into an ancient sadness as his eyes moved to stare at his hands. "The Choir, if you remember, were the heart of Heaven or I suppose, more accurately, the brain of Heaven. Without them, the angels are not only separate but essentially all of Heaven does not exist."

"What the hell do you mean? Heaven doesn't exist?"

"This is a very difficult situation to explain, Dean. Perhaps, think of Heaven as a computer. Every angel is a button on the keyboard. The souls are files in the computer. Heaven's physical form is the computer's physical form. The Choir is every binary code, every piece of mechanism, and every piece of physical product holding it all together. Without the Choir, or say without the battery to the computer, the whole thing falls apart." Dean's stomach knotted immediately.

"So Heaven's gonna what? Fall out of the sky? What about all the people in there-"

"The people are fine, for now. It isn't as comfortable as Heaven is normally, but they are being treated as best as possible, Heaven's never had to deal with something like this before."

"You said Raphael doesn't want to fix the Choir but why the fuck not? If it's so important, why wouldn't he want it back in place? Shouldn't that be his first objective, come on!" Dean felt anger boiling up in his veins at stupid angels and stupid Heaven before he registered Cas was answering him.

"I don't think Raphael understands the damage the Choir being dismantled has done, he's usually in Michael's offices and his fatal flaw has always been his pride. As the only archangel left in Heaven, he seems to think he knows best. He doesn't think reinstating the Choir is the best way to deal with Heaven's issues right now but if you ask me, I think it's simply that he doesn't understand Heaven."

"The archangels don't think of anyone but themselves huh?" Dean joked, yawning.

 "Sleep, Dean." Castiel's hand rested gently on Dean's shoulder over the blanket. "Heaven will keep."-0 loki ,

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED, THANK YOU FOR READING.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are very much appreciated, thank you!


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